Chapter 37
37
W e entered one of the elevators at the Eastern Columbia five minutes after leaving the restaurant. David pressed the button for the tenth floor but not the second.
“I should probably let you know that I haven’t showered in... two, no, three days now,” I told him as my newly nourished body seemed to have only one desire at present. And it wasn’t getting that much-needed shower.
“You smell quite delicious to me,” he said, while he got closer and started smelling my neck and collarbone. Then he licked me behind an earlobe, and I almost melted. “You taste quite delectable too.”
The elevator thankfully made it to the tenth floor and the doors opened. By then, I was drenched in lust and not caring about anything else.
“Are you coming inside?” We stood in front of my front door, and I was somehow in early stages relationship mode. This communication thing was so rousing but so strange somehow.
“The police made a complete mess at my place when they were looking for me. So I’m not looking forward to going there. And there’s not a chance I’m going to let you out of my sight right now.” He leaned closer and kissed me. My back was against the wall, his body on mine. The feeling of being in the open, on the landing where a neighbor—probably George from 10B—could see us made the whole situation sexier.
I guess I should have realized then that something was amiss—since my front door was unlocked. But I was tired and had only one thing in mind: getting David undressed as soon as possible, and me with him. Also, I’d left the place in a rush that morning. I wouldn’t put it past me to have left it unlocked. And perhaps I did.
We got inside the apartment in a long, extended kiss that looked almost like that sequence in Notorious , where the camera gets up close to Cary Grant’s and Ingrid Bergman’s faces and follows them while they’re making out.
“Please stop with this premium-cable quality sex scene choreography,” a voice said, and it sounded like someone I knew... but it couldn’t be. “You know physical intimacy makes me cringe.”
Fred Appleton stood in my living room, pointing a crooked smile toward David and me. No, there was no gun in sight. Yes, the fact that a semi-perfect non-stranger had sneaked inside my apartment was still terrifying. You may say I’m a selfish brat and shouldn’t wish any harm on David. And I really don’t. But I was so happy not to have come home alone for once.
“You couldn’t just let it be, right?” Fred continued. “You couldn’t just leave Dashing’s death alone, take the great job that was being offered to you, and be grateful?”
“Fred, what the fuck are you doing at my place?” The shock must have gotten a hold of my system because I wouldn’t shut up. “I don’t remember inviting you. I don’t have a habit of having guests over who’ve tried killing me. Also, for the record, it wasn’t a great job. It was a job, I’ll give you that, but I wouldn’t have taken it even if it was set in Los Angeles, which it wasn’t, so?—”
“Elena,” David, of course, tried navigating the situation in a more diplomatic way. “Perhaps don’t antagonize the uninvited killer, who we know is dangerous. What do you want, Fred?”
“That was my fucking line!” I snapped at David. “Can you please stop always taking control of the situation?”
“Seriously?” David asked me, frowning. “Are we fighting now ?”
“We wouldn’t be fighting if you weren’t so annoyingly diligent, organized, and rational,” I said, and believe me, I know I sounded deranged. But I think by now it’s been amply established: I don’t react well in threatening or stressful settings.
David scoffed, confused by my attitude. “Being diligent, organized, and rational is a bad thing now?”
“Can you two stop bickering and pay attention!” Fred yelled. He was visibly exasperated, and I didn’t blame him. David can have that effect on people.
“What do you want, Fred?” You have to admit, it was my rightful line to deliver. Also, I sounded bored, which made Fred twitch with annoyance. That alone made it the most worthwhile.
“I’m here to make a statement for that article the two of you have written,” he said. I didn’t see that one coming.
“A statement?” David double-checked and, I kid you not, he started looking around for a notebook and pen. He could have found them expediently as I keep writing utensils scattered all over the house, but instead he took his cell phone and pointed it to Fred. “Care if I take notes?”
“Go ahead. I want to know what’s all this BS you’ve written in your article where it says: ‘The motives behind Appleton’s actions were not clear at the time of publication.’”
“Apologies for that, we should have probably tried contacting you and asking for a comment,” David said. “We just didn’t think you would as you were being chased down by the police. Care to make a comment now? We can add it to the article.”
“Oh my god! You’re so annoying! Don’t reason with the psycho!” I told David.
“Elena, don’t antagonize the psycho,” David said, patiently.
“I’m not a psycho!” Fred protested.
“I’m sorry for the inappropriate use of language,” David said, and I rolled my eyes harder than I’d done in years. Probably in my entire life. And I’m an avid eye-roll practitioner. “You were saying you wanted to make a comment?”
I was going to protest again at David’s incapability of leaving his work alone even in the most extreme of circumstances, but he grabbed my hand with his free one and squeezed it. I understood right away: I’m just trying to make some time. Please stop antagonizing the psycho. I’m scared too, but we’ll get through this. Together.
I shut up even if I would have gladly continued telling Fred a thing or two he probably didn’t want to hear.
“I’m a perfectly functioning individual and an extraordinarily talented writer,” started Fred, and David squeezed my hand again because he intuited I was about to lose it. During my tenure at LA Misconducts , I’d been quite open with David about what I thought of Fred’s writing skills: They were nonexistent. The only thing the man was good for was taking credit from junior writers and copying the works of previous screenwriters. “Do you really want to know whose fault it is that I ran over Henry? Yours,” Fred said, referring to me.
“I don’t follow.” And I really didn’t.
“I was only in the damn building to tamper with your water heater,” Fred explained.
“It was you!”
“I knew you’d say no to the job offer because you’re a spoiled brat who doesn’t like to work away from daddy and mommy. I needed you to feel slightly uncomfortable to realize life is hard and you can’t always bank on your rich and influential parents for everything. You needed to grow up and get a real job. Nothing reminds us of that more than when everything we take for granted starts falling apart. I was going to meddle with your Wi-Fi next.”
“What kind of depraved maniac does that?”
David softly squeezed my hand again. He really wanted me to shut up. But how could I?
“Excuse the language, again. So you happened to come to the building for other reasons and then realized Dashing Henry was also here?” David asked.
“He was on a path of destruction. I pleaded with him to make a bow and withdraw his accusation against you,” Fred said, referring this time to David, and almost implying my journalist lover was to blame. “To stop meddling around, go quietly, and let me develop the new show. He didn’t listen.”
“So you ran him over?” I asked, still confused—and sore about my heater.
“I wasn’t planning on it, but he came here looking for trouble. He was drunk on Fernet and wanted to confront David. He was hoping David would try to get rid of him in a violent fashion, maybe even punch him. He wanted to sue him for assault.”
“Assault?” asked David. “I haven’t punched anyone in my life. Not sure I even know how to do it!”
“He was set on getting you hooked for something. That’s why he drank all that awful stuff. At the latest, he wanted to get you for making him drink against his will.”
“How do you know all this, Fred?” I asked.
“Because he told me all about it when I found him here and confronted him. I tried to dissuade him from exposing himself any further. He didn’t listen, took the elevator, went to knock on David’s door, didn’t find him, and finally came back to the garage. I’d been waiting for him. Thinking.”
“Why did you care what he did? You’d already fired him.” Something wasn’t adding up.
“He was going to ruin the legacy of LA Misconducts !” Fred made it sound as if that was enough cause for murder. “Our argument got very heated.”
“So you ran him over before he could make a fool of himself?” David had an eyebrow raised, as confused as I was.
“I’ll protect the show’s legacy at all costs!”
“I didn’t exactly ruin any legacies, so can you tell me why the hell you tried killing me this morning?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Fred said, and I guess my face told him what I thought of that. “When the police started investigating, I wasn’t worried. They’re a bunch of overworked incompetent idiots who eat donuts by the dozen. We’ve covered all of it on LA Misconducts . They’re corrupt, they’re dumb, they’re lazy.”
On the one hand, I wasn’t sure he actually believed what he was saying. On the other hand, over my years in Los Angeles and working in Hollywood, I’d met so many self-centered people in the business who thought prime-time dramas were akin to documentaries, that Fred’s words didn’t surprise me that much.
“I wasn’t worried about the press either. They’re all a bunch of click-grabbing bozos. Newsrooms are notoriously understaffed. Journalists are hurried, underpaid, and exhausted. Who was going to have the time, or energy, to dig into this other than superficially?” I must have been stressed and exhausted because he was starting to sound reasonable and actually make sense. “But then there was the rumor you also had started investigating with that ex of yours,” Fred said in disgust, while David kept holding my hand. He was still taking notes on his cell phone frantically. Seriously? Did he really want to get all that crap? “And I knew I’d be doomed. If there was someone who could pull this off, it would be an LA Misconducts alumna. Your time as a writer on the show has provided you with all the necessary insight and know-how to follow the leads and unmask me.”
Okay, maybe Fred wasn’t sounding so reasonable, or sane , after all. David remained buried in his cell phone, but when he realized I was no longer talking—I guess my brain was trying to find out what to say or how to react—he took charge.
“And you planted the watch in my apartment to further incriminate me?” he said.
“Of course.” Fred looked immensely proud of himself. “The press had decided you were the killer. You were my easy way out of this, my path to my future in New York.”
“You realize that, just because they have actual winters there, New York is not like a different country without an extradition treaty, right?” I asked Fred. “The police would have eventually figured it out and arrested you. Especially once you decided I also had to go.”
“Pity they still haven’t done it,” Fred said. “Because you still have to go.”